On the Doorstep
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Clint Barton didn't mean to pass out in front of Stark Tower. He was just waiting for the Avengers so he could ask them to visit the homeless shelter before it closed. He never expected them to try to recruit him. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this. Background Coulsmash, but Clint-centric.


"On the Doorstep"

"Is that someone out the front?" Steve said, pointing.

"Damn super serum-ed eyes," Tony said. "I can't tell."

"I'm sure it's someone," Steve said, and he jogged over to the entrance to Stark Tower, or at least as close as the public could get. "Shit." He knelt beside the body. Please, God, don't let it be a dead body. "Bruce, get over here!"

Bruce ran up to Steve, who was pulling off his mittens and feeling for a pulse.

"I'll get it," he said.

"I think he's breathing."

Bruce paused, and nodded. "There's a pulse. It's faint, but there."

"He's freezing," Steve said, rubbing the stranger's hands. "They're like ice."

"Hey." Bruce poked him. "You okay?"

"Just… for a moment," Steve mumbled. He lifted the man – more like a boy – into his arms. "We have to get him inside."

"He could be a plant," Natasha said, though even she softened at the boy's pale face.

"He'll be a dead plant if we don't get him warmed up," Bruce advised.

Tony was already opening the doors, and Thor flew up to a balcony. They all hurried in, Bruce rubbing the stranger's arms while Steve held him close. Tony advised JARVIS to let Thor in so that he could start a fire in the common room.

Once they were out of the elevator, they heard Thor clattering around in the kitchen, Mjolnir propping open the door. Natasha ran for blankets and Steve and Bruce settled the boy onto the sofa. Tony went to the kitchen to help Thor. He was already toasting pop tarts, so Tony volunteered himself to make soup.

"How long's he been out there, JARVIS?" Bruce asked.

"I will consult the security cameras from across the road," JARVIS said. "I apologise, sir. He was not in the line of sight of the Stark Industries cameras."

"Didn't even know there was a blind-spot," Steve said, scratching the back of his neck. "Bruce, what else can I do?"

"Natasha's getting blankets," he said. "Go see if Tony and Thor need help. The fire's as hot as it's gonna get. Actually." He paused. "The kid's probably my size, or Tony's. Could you grab something from my room? I have winter woollies near the front of the wardrobe."

"On it," Steve said, and he ran to the elevator. Natasha entered the room seconds after, carrying an armful of linen. She dumped it in front of Bruce, and helped him strip the cold, wet clothes from the boy, then wrap him in blankets.

"Got soup," Tony said. "Chicken."

"Great," Bruce said. "Thanks, Tony. Just put it there. He hasn't woken yet."

"Hey, that's what microwaves are for," Tony said, waving a hand. But he looked concerned. "How's he doing?"

"He should survive. Kid, wake up."

Natasha fished a battered wallet out of his jeans.

"This is all he has," she said.

"He's thin as a rake," Bruce added, poking the visible ribs. "We're gonna need more than soup, but not yet. He'd probably just throw it up."

"But the soup's okay?" Tony asked.

"Yes, the soup's fine, Tony."

"He has, what, five dollars in cash, total," Natasha said, poking through the change. "No notes. What's this?" She pulled out a card. "It's for a homeless shelter."

They all looked at each other, and then down at the young man. The grime and neglect became clear. There were scars standing out on his flesh, some old, some new. His hair was unwashed, his nails were chipped, and he had lines which shouldn't have been on someone so young. Either that, or he was older, but boyish enough to pass for a teenager.

"Got clothes," Steve said, running up to them. He held them out to Bruce. "Wasn't sure what would be best."

"Thanks," Bruce said, somewhat subdued.

"What's wrong?"

"He's homeless," Natasha said. "This is probably all he has in the world."

"I'll call the shelter," Tony said after an awkward silence, where Steve stared at the kid, clearly affected. "If he goes there a lot, they'll probably know who he is."

"We hope," Thor said. His expression was bordering on furious, and thunder rumbled outside. "If only we had returned sooner."

"Just be thankful we walked, and didn't come back via the garage, or he'd be dead by morning," Bruce said. He rubbed the boy's cheeks. "C'mon, wake up. Steve, help me dress him."

They got him into warm, dry clothes, after Bruce dried him off with one of the blankets. Steve had had the foresight to bring bed socks, and they slipped those on as well. Once he was bundled up, they placed him back on the sofa, and dragged it closer to the fireplace. That was when Tony finally got off the phone.

"Sounds like it's Clint Barton," he said. "He matches the description, and he'd told the kids that he was coming to the tower today."

"Why?" Natasha asked.

"The children… are fans of the Avengers. He said he'd ask us to visit the shelter before it closes for good. JARVIS, how long was he out there? We've been gone half the day."

"He arrived at approximately ten o'clock this morning, sir," the AI replied. "He has remained there since."

"He did not even partake of lunch?" Thor asked.

"He probably didn't want to miss us," Steve said. "And… could he even afford to get anything?"

"Not in this area," Tony said. "The shelter's on the other side of the city. He must've walked here—"

"That would explain the blisters on his feet," Bruce said. "These shoes aren't the right size for him."

"None of this is the right size," Natasha said, nudging the wet clothes with her toes. "They are second-hand. Probably donations."

Steve sank onto the floor beside Bruce, and helped him rub the circulation back into Clint's limbs. It felt like hours before he finally stirred, and slowly opened his eyes.

"S'warm," he muttered. "Why's it warm?" He narrowed his eyes. "Where…?"

"You're in Stark Tower, Clint," Bruce said. "That is your name, isn't it? Clint Barton?"

"Yeah," Clint said, and he tried to sit up. He was hampered by the blankets. "What? Who are—"

"My name is Bruce Banner. I'm a doctor. You were at risk of hypothermia, and I'm not convinced you're out of the woods yet. I want to get you to a hospital so you can undergo observation."

"Can't," Clint said, pushing his arms away. He still couldn't get out of the blankets, and began to thrash. "Let me go!"

"Stay still," Steve said, holding him down. "Have some soup. Please."

Clint stared at him. "Who're you?" he asked cautiously. Steve smiled.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he said. "Also known as Captain America. And Bruce here is the Hulk."

He blinked. "You said… Stark Tower?"

"You've been waiting since this morning, according to the cameras," Tony said. Clint's eyes widened when he saw the billionaire. "Now eat the soup. I added the water to the powder myself."

Bruce rolled his eyes, and picked up the still-warm mug of chicken soup. "Are you vegetarian?"

"Not by choice," Clint said, and he snorted. "Can't afford anything like morals, anyway."

"Okay," Bruce said, and he lifted the mug to Clint's lips. "Drink this."

Clint continued to look around himself suspiciously, even while he dutifully drank. When half the soup was gone, Bruce put the mug back down.

"Do you feel better?" he asked.

Clint nodded, and shrank back under their gazes. "Sorry. Didn't mean to intrude. But the kids… the shelter… I wanted to…" He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "Damn it, the shelter's closing down and we'll all have to find someplace else. Some of us don't have anywhere to go. The kids love you, and they wanted to see you for Christmas. I think they would've settled for any of you. It's stupid, and you probably have better things to do, but I wanted to at least try." He shrugged his thin shoulders, and shrank back further than they thought possible. "I'll leave as soon as I can. I'm sorry. This was a bad idea."

"Hey, wait," Steve said. "You're still cold, and you might get sick. Let us look after you, okay?"

"If you won't go to the hospital, then stay here," Bruce said. "We have a medical area. Or guest rooms. I can bring some of my things to one of the guest rooms, and we can take turns watching you. I can't let you go back outside in all good conscience, not if you're not going to seek medical treatment." He smiled gently when Clint started to protest. "Doctor's orders."

"I hope you like pop tarts," Thor said, and he held out a plate with half a dozen of them. "I can provide you with more, if you desire. And there is a large variety of toppings."

Clint shook his head. "I can't eat anything. Too full from the soup."

"If half a cup of soup makes you full, then you're definitely staying here," Bruce said firmly. "I'm not sending you back out like this. We're bigger and stronger than you, and JARVIS is monitoring the whole building. You go to a hospital or you stay here, and right now I'm convinced you'd try to run from a hospital. So you're staying here. Got it?"

"…Okay," Clint said softly, nodding. "Whatever you say, doc."

"Good," Bruce said.

"I'll go make up a bed," Steve said. "Floor below yours?"

"Yes," Bruce said. "Thor, thanks for the pop tarts, but not tonight."

"Very well," Thor said. He looked concerned. "Perhaps in the morning you will have a heartier appetite."

"Maybe," Clint said. He was fiddling with the cuff of the jumper he was wearing. "This isn't mine."

"We'll get your clothes dry," Bruce said. "You're wearing mine for the time being. I hope that's okay?"

Clint nodded again, burying his nose in the scratchy wool. "It feels so soft."

"Here is your wallet," Natasha said, handing it back to him. Clint snatched it, suddenly wild-eyed, and he quickly checked through it. Eventually, satisfied that nothing was wrong, he relaxed.

"Sorry," he said. "Been burned before. I shouldn't have gotten so distracted. Let down my guard."

"Stop apologising," Tony said. "You haven't done anything wrong."

Rather than dispute it or agree, Clint curled his legs up and rested his chin on top of them, wrapping his arms around his shins. He looked away from the fire.

"It hurts me eyes," he said.

"Poor eyesight?"

"No," he said. "Excellent eyesight. The best. Hawkeye, the World's Greatest Archer." He mimed a bow and arrow. "Then Carson kicked me out, and now I'm living on the streets. Can't become an archery teacher without a GED, so working and staying at the shelter is the best I can do. The alternatives… are unthinkable." He lowered his head and chose to stare at the floor instead. Slowly, his eyes began to close. At a gesture from Bruce, Thor stepped forward and swept Clint up into his arms. That woke him, and he yelped. He grabbed hold of Thor's shoulders, and stared up at him.

"Holy hell, you're big," he blurted out. The others chuckled, and Thor grinned. Clint shut his eyes. "Crap, I didn't mean… I guess, since you're a god…"

"No need to explain yourself, Clint," Thor said. "Come. I shall take you to your bedchamber."

"This is really too much," Clint complained as the rest of them followed. "You don't have to do this for me. If you wanna help, just take me back to the shelter. They'll look after me there." The shivers occasionally wracking his body suggested that Bruce was right to worry. "Please? I don't wanna impose—"

"There's plenty of room here," Bruce said.

"Yeah," Tony said. "You're not leaving without the doctor's say-so. It's my tower; I'll invite to stay who I want to invite to stay."

Clint kept silent on the way up. He looked around, studying the buttons and tightening his grip around Thor's shoulders at each movement.

"Is this an elevator?" he asked.

"…Yes?" Natasha said. "You haven't been in one before?"

He shook his head slowly. "Don't have them in the circus, and the shelter doesn't have one. All the people who can't manage the stairs have to stay on the bottom level, or we've gotta carry `em upstairs."

"You don't go to the shops?" Tony asked.

"What would I buy? It's not like I have much money. Mostly what I get doing odd jobs, or scrounge from sidewalks or stuff. I don't steal," he added quickly. "I wouldn't."

"Here we are," Tony said as the doors slid open. Clint looked up, and stared at the room he was taken into. It was simply furnished – for a room in a Stark building – but it probably seemed as opulent as Buckingham Palace to a kid from the streets. Steve was waiting for them.

"I made the bed, and got out the spare toothbrush and toothpaste," he said. "I left the towels and everything out as well, and the bed covers are turned down. The heating's on, and there's a dressing gown and slippers. I also brought some of your pyjamas, if that's okay, Bruce?"

"Good job, Steve," he said as Thor placed Clint on the bed. "Clint, do you feel like changing?"

"I guess I should," Clint said, tugging at the cuff of the sweater again. "Can I… do it alone?"

"Of course," Bruce said. "I'll want to examine you in the morning, and someone will always be here during the night. JARVIS will keep scanning you as well, and alert me if anything's wrong."

Clint's gaze dropped to the floor again, and he bit his lower lip. "I'll get changed now," he said, voice thicker than before.

"Okay," Bruce said, and they all left the bedroom. JARVIS promised to watch him, and so they all sat in the chairs and waited.

"Christ," Tony said, burying his head in his hands. "Homeless people have always been a statistic, or a reason to attend some charity thing."

"He said his name was Hawkeye?" Natasha confirmed.

"Yeah."

She held up her phone. "He's right. World's Greatest Archer was his tagline. He was in Carson's Circus. It doesn't say much about him, but there's video." She scrolled through the links, and they crowded around her to watch grainy footage of some truly spectacular archery. It was Clint all right, not as skinny as he was now, but he looked simultaneously young and tough. His skill made it obvious why his arms had more muscle tone than the rest of him put together.

"He's… he's brilliant," Steve said. "With aim like that, he should be…"

"Working for SHIELD?" Natasha said dryly.

"Or for us. I wanna put a bow in his hand, see if he still has it."

Tony thumped the back of the chair. "That's what they meant. I asked if he had much, and the shelter said something about a bow, but I didn't really get what they meant."

"Master Barton has finished changing," JARVIS said. "He has not disclosed his age."

"He can't be more than his early twenties," Bruce said. "But with malnutrition, he could be younger than he looks, or older. Natasha, is there an age and a date for that video?"

"Or you could just ask me."

They looked up at Clint, who was clutching onto the doorframe.

"I'm twenty-three," he said. "It's been awhile since the circus. I was younger than they advertised. Social services or something, I guess. Can I go to sleep now?"

"Have you brushed your teeth?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah. I usually just use a finger. It was kinda nice using a brush. They feel cleaner than usual." He licked his teeth. "Huh. That'll keep me going for awhile."

"I'll take the first watch," Bruce said, and he began to drag an armchair towards the bedroom. Steve took it from him, hefting it easily and following Clint. He placed the chair close to the bed. "JARVIS, do we have medical supplies here?"

"I found some of them," Steve said, indicating the bag beside the bed.

"And there are additional supplies in the bathroom cabinet," JARVIS said. Clint appeared to have gotten used to the AI pretty quickly; he didn't even flinch when the voice came out of nowhere.

"I'm pretty tired," he said. "Can I go to bed now?"

"Yes," Bruce said firmly. "Get under the covers. And put the bed socks back on."

"Yes, Mom," Clint muttered, dragging them back onto his feet. Then he slid under the covers and pulled them nearly up to his nose. He frowned. "This is weird."

"Comfortable bedding?" Tony said.

"No. Well, yes, but… Sleeping without her by my side."

"Your girlfriend?" Steve asked.

"No. My bow. She's been with me since the circus. I usually have her case in reaching distance." He felt about on the mattress beside him. "I wish she was here."

"We'll get her tomorrow," Bruce promised. "You'll be out like a light, I'm sure. You won't even miss her."

"Yes, I will," Clint mumbled. But he fell asleep quickly, as Bruce predicted, and the others filed out after wishing them both goodnight.

* * *

The next morning, Clint Barton woke to a familiar sight. His bow, his baby, was lying on the bed in front of him. He grabbed her with a quick movement, striking like a snake, and pulled her under the bed covers.

Covers. Plural. And why the hell was the bed so soft?

He sat up quickly, prompting a sneeze, and then a coughing fit. He could tell that someone was moving nearby, but that didn't matter. Not when he seemed to be coming down with something. Damn it, he was supposed to see the Avengers, ask someone to come visit the shelter before it closed down forever. How could he hang outside Stark Tower with a freakin' cold?

"Calm down," someone said, stroking his hair. "Here, lean forward."

With a fuzzy mind, Clint obeyed, and leaned back when instructed. There was something warm placed at his back. Was it like a hot water bottle? Whatever it was, it made his back feel _fantastic_. He smiled, pulling his bow nearer for comfort.

"Hey, baby," he whispered to her hoarsely. "Still got you."

"Who's he talking to?" another person asked.

"The bow," the first one said. "Clint, we'll get breakfast for you. What do you feel like?"

"I dunno," he said. "Got a toaster?"

"…Yes, we have a toaster."

"Could I just have a slice of toast? Don't care what kind. Doesn't have to have anything on it. Just need something _warm_."

"You only want a plain piece of toast? Do you want soup? Tea?"

He squinted, trying to focus on the white and brown blur in front of him. He blinked until he could see clearly. This was why he hated having a cold. The guy in front of him looked kind of familiar. Like Clint had seen him in a dream.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"My name is Bruce Banner. I'm a doctor. I'm also the Hulk in my spare time. You're in Stark Tower, and it looks like you have a cold. You struck up a bit of a fever during the night, which wasn't entirely unexpected, considering that you'd been sleeping in the snow for a couple of hours before we found you."

"…Oh," Clint said. It was hard to process this. "I didn't dream…?"

"Last night happened," the second person said. "Hi. I'm Steve—"

"Rogers," Clint said. "I remember. Captain America." His eyes grew wide and he stared at the quilt. "I'm in Stark Tower. There are Avengers here. I'm in… this is a really big bed."

Bruce chuckled. "I need your consent to perform an examination, if you're in your right mind."

"Yeah, yeah," he croaked. "Whatever you need to do. I can't walk back to the shelter like this."

"You're not walking back there," Steve said, crossing his arms and looking stern. "We've been working like the dickens to make sure you survived the night without mishap, and we're not gonna let you undo all that by going outside before you're ready. If you're going anywhere, we will _drive you_."

Clint snuggled back under the covers, and moaned at the warmth in his lower back. He couldn't help feeling guilty, though.

"How long do I have to be here, doc?" he asked Bruce.

"It depends on how quickly you shake this cold."

"What'll speed it up?"

"Bed rest, and plenty of it."

"But…"

"But?" Steve prompted. They were interrupted when someone else entered the room.

"Good, he's awake," the redhead remarked. "Clint, my name is Natasha Romanov, also known as the Black Widow. How are you feeling?"

"Sick," he said miserably. "My throat hurts and my nose is all clogged up. I can still see, though, so I'm counting that as a win. And my ears don't ache anymore."

"Do they usually ache?" Bruce said. Clint beamed.

"I used to have hearing problems," he said. "But then Stark Industries donated a couple of million or something to fund research for the deaf institute, and the shelter sponsored me to undergo testing. They fixed my hearing, which is good, because I couldn't afford to get hearing aids, that's for sure." He rubbed the back of his left ear at the memory. "I'd have to sell my bow, and the money wouldn't go all that far. So… when you see Mr. Stark, could you thank him for me? I know he'll be busy, what with is being near Christmas and all… oh crap!"

"What is it?" Steve said, stepping forward.

"I… I can't stay here," Clint said, and he tried to shove off the covers while keeping a grip on the handle of his baby's case. "The shelter's closing in the new year. We've only got three weeks. I have to—"

"Stay where you are," Bruce said, pushing him firmly back into place. "You're no use to them dead, which you might end up if you don't get all your strength back before going out in that snow."

"But—"

"No buts, or I'll get someone to sit on you."

"Wouldn't it be easier to dose me with sleeping pills?" Clint suggested, mainly to see what the doctor would say.

"Not with the antibiotics I'm putting you on," Bruce said. "You're just short of having to be hooked up in a hospital bed, and don't think I'm not tempted to do just that. You're sorely lacking in essential nutrients—"

"The kids need the food more than I do," he said. Bruce scowled.

"That's not an appropriate response to the situation," he said. "I don't know how much food you'll be able to keep down, and I'm not sure you'd be the best judge of that, either, so we're playing it by ear. Or stomach, to be more accurate."

Clint folded his arms, keeping his bow pressed against his leg. "Can I have toast now? Please?"

"Prince Thor is bringing breakfast now, Mr. Barton," a voice said. Jeeves, was that it? No. Uh, Jarvis? Sounded right.

"And here it is!" a tall man – obviously Thor – proclaimed as he came through the bedroom door. He was carrying a huge tray full of way more than toast. "I trust there is something to your liking here?"

Clint blinked, surprised. "Uh… yeah, I'll eat anything as long as it doesn't kill me."

"We specialise in making food which doesn't kill people," Natasha said, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed.

"Is she the one who's supposed to be sitting on me? `Cause I don't think I'd mind so much." He gulped at the look she gave him. "Kidding?"

"Give him food, or he'll continue to run his mouth," Steve said.

"Yeah, might as well put it to good use," Clint said, holding his hands out. He had some tea first, which was _heavenly_ on his sore throat. Then he asked if he could please have something on the toast, and nearly swooned at the warm honey. He became aware that Bruce was only giving him food in little bits, probably so that he wouldn't scarf it all down and make himself sick. (More sick, that is.) His hunger resented that, but he knew it was for the best.

"At least it's putting more colour back in your cheeks," Bruce said. "You looked like you were at death's door last night."

"Sorry," Clint said. "Didn't mean to ruin your evening."

"`Twould only have been ruined had we been unable to save you," Thor said. "You are stronger than you appear, young Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye?" He nearly choked on his tongue. "Oh God, I told you about that? Christ, did you…?"

"There's some low-quality footage of you online," Natasha said. "But it's easy to see your talent."

"Not that good," he muttered, and he took another sip of tea.

"I wouldn't mind seeing you in action," Steve said. He paled at Bruce's frown. "Not until you're better, obviously."

"Archery is a noble craft," Thor said. "I have seen men – and some women – who have spent centuries honing it, and still not matched the level of skill you have displayed."

Clint blushed, and hoped that he could pass his red cheeks off as a fever. Then he began to cough again, and Bruce cleared everyone else out. He sat next to Clint, and continued to feed him honey-soaked toast, tea, and soup, until Clint was pleading fullness.

"Do you need help getting around?" Bruce asked. "To the bathroom?"

"No," Clint said, blushing even more furiously at the thought of having to be helped there. "I can do it."

"Okay. I've left a change of clothes in there. We had to guess at your size, but JARVIS – all capitals, it's an acronym – took your measurements, so we based it on those."

"Where are _my_ clothes?" he asked, looking down at the pyjamas. "And whose are these?"

"They're mine," Bruce said. "It's not the first time I've given someone the clothes from my back. At least I wasn't wearing them this time. I…" He looked at his feet. "I know what it's like to be homeless and broke, and relying on charity to stay alive. I've worked as a doctor in some of the poorest countries in the world… mainly because I was on the run from the military. Living here has kept all that away." Clint sniffled, and rubbed his running nose. "It's nothing to be ashamed about. It's the governments of the world that should be ashamed, not us."

"I'm not ashamed," he said. "I'm not."

"Okay." Bruce nodded. "I'll be outside. Let me know when you're ready. There are fresh pyjamas, if you're prefer those. We'll disinfect the bedroom and bathroom when you're done, and you can wait out here while that's happening. Steve went to the shelter to get your bow—"

"Did the kids see him?" Clint asked quickly. "They wanted to see him. All of you. Did they?"

"He didn't say," Bruce said. "But they might not recognise him out of the suit."

"…Oh." Clint wilted. "I'm gonna clean up, and whatever."

"I'll be outside," Bruce repeated. "Take your time."

* * *

While Clint was in the bathroom, Phil joined them. He took in their worried expressions.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked.

"I don't think he's willing to trust any kindness outside of that shelter," Bruce said. "Not even us."

"You should've seen the way he grabbed his bow as soon as he saw it," Steve added. "It was the only thing of his at the shelter."

"So the clothes on his back…?"

"They have a laundry service."

"He doesn't even have an identity card," Natasha said.

"And it's really… Hawkeye, the circus archer?"

"You've heard of him?" Bruce asked, raising an eyebrow.

Phil nodded, and walked over to perch on the arm of the chair. He squeezed Bruce's shoulder.

"You take care of him, and he'll be fine," he said. "Better than new, I'll bet."

"Thanks," Bruce said, putting a hand over Phil's. "So how d'you know him?"

"I don't," Phil said. "Not really. I met him, but it was a long time ago."

"Wait, really?" Steve said, staring at him.

Seconds later, the door opened, and Clint poked his head around the corner.

"Doesn't take a genius to know you were probably talking `bout me," he said. His eyes met Phil's, and he frowned. "You came to the circus once. Seven years ago, Chicago. You said I was good."

Phil smiled. "I said you were the best archer I'd ever seen, and that there was clearly a reason they called you Hawkeye. I gave you—"

"A card for something," Clint said. His gaze fell. "I lost it when we packed up the next day. They kicked me out a couple of weeks later."

"We lost track of you," Phil said. "You're very good at covering your trails. And remembering faces."

"Not hard to," Clint said, shrugging. "You were being nice to me. If I'd known what was gonna happen, I would've taken you up on that job offer. Kinda been one of my big regrets."

"Don't keep him talking," Bruce chided. "Clint, come sit down while JARVIS pipes disinfectant into those rooms. You won't get any rest standing around."

Clint nodded, and lowered himself onto the edge of the sofa. Bruce glared him into lying down properly, even though Clint made the act seem gangly and awkward. Or maybe it was just him. Either way, he didn't seem comfortable, and turned his head away from their gazes.

"I wanna go back to the shelter," he mumbled.

"Not yet," Steve said. "If Bruce says you're not well, then you're not well. If he says you have to stay here, then you stay here."

"You've never been sick before, I'll bet," Clint said.

"Actually, yeah. Before I became Captain America, I'd been a sick kid, sort of like you. I'm surprised I even made it to World War Two, the way I was always having to listen to doctors' orders. And…" He looked sheepish. "I didn't always obey them."

"And you became Captain America," he said, eyeing Steve sideways. "What kinda lesson is that s'posed to teach?"

"I have no idea," Steve said.

"No more talking for you, Clint," Bruce said firmly. "I mean it." The elevator door opened, and he grinned. "Talk about good timing. Happy here's been to the chemist. Got the throat lozenges?"

"Every kind," Happy said, and he placed a bag in front of Clint. "Hey. I'm Happy Hogan, Mr. Stark's driver and Miss Potts's personal bodyguard."

Clint clearly wanted to say something; once glance at Bruce, however, and he shut his mouth again.

"And don't you go making any more job offers," Bruce added to Phil. "He's not well enough to make great life choices at the moment, and SHIELD is a big commitment."

"We can still help him."

"Tony's willing to help him," Bruce said. "I'm more interested in his recovery right now."

"Whatever you want," Phil said, stroking the back of Bruce's neck. "Keep calm."

"I am calm."

"Mmm-hmm?"

Bruce relaxed under his touch, and noticed Clint watching them with sharp eyes.

"There's a range downstairs, which Natasha uses," he said. He glanced at her. "If you don't mind…?"

"You're welcome to show us what you can do," she said. "The targets are difficult for many. But challenging is fun. Challenging is good." She cocked her head. "Nod if you'd like to demonstrate, once you're well again?"

Clint nodded eagerly, and popped a lozenge into his mouth.

"The rooms are disinfected now," JARVIS announced. "It is safe to enter once more."

"Thor's on watch duty," Bruce said. "Am I right?"

"Aye," Thor agreed. "I am honoured to be entrusted with Clint's wellbeing. If he does not sleep, we could perhaps watch some films?"

"D'you have the Harry Potter movies?" Clint asked. Then he lowered his eyes. "Sorry."

"They are indeed in Sir's catalogue," JARVIS said.

They saw Clint mouth '_Sweet_!', and he carefully swung his legs around. Thor was picking him up before he could object, and carried him through to the bedroom. Phil cleared his throat.

"Let me know if you need me," he said.

"Where are you going?"

"To our rooms. I want to pull up all SHIELD has on Clint Barton. I never really forgot him, but after we lost his trail I turned my attention to bigger projects. The search never stopped; I guess it can now." He cupped Bruce's cheek. "You know where to find me."

"Okay," Bruce said softly, and Phil left. Bruce accepted the other bag from Happy, and began to poke through it, to make sure that everything was there. "I'll get Clint settled. There's no need for you to hang around."

"Nothing better for me to do," Steve said. "I brought my drawing supplies with me."

"I brought a book," Natasha added.

"I'd better get back to Mr. Stark," Happy said, and he tipped an imaginary hat at Bruce.

"Thank you, Happy."

"Not a problem."

* * *

Clint fell asleep again sometime during the fourth film. He slept restlessly, despite his bow being at his side. It was something of a repeat of the previous night, kicking off the covers, pulling them back on, waking himself by coughing and then falling asleep soon after, chest still wracking with coughs. He woke again mid-afternoon, and stayed awake long enough for lunch. He slept again until the evening, and they resumed the Harry Potter marathon.

The next few days, it was rinse and repeat. Christmas approached rapidly, and the few times Clint managed to speak, it was to ask about the shelter and the kids, and apologise for staying at the tower. Bruce wouldn't let him outside, barely let him leave the bedroom except to use the bathroom. The bed-rest was strict, but effective. JARVIS reported improved results, and they were able to leave Clint alone at night. Someone still stayed on guard outside the door, just in case, but everything seemed fine.

Until, somehow, Clint disappeared.

"The ventilation shafts do not have cameras," JARVIS said. "I was able to track his heat signature through the tower. He has found the firing range."

"Good thing I bought some arrows," Tony muttered as they all went down to the range.

Phil was already there, reinforcing the idea that he was super-powered as well. Clint was loosing arrow after arrow into the moving target, while Phil watched him with his chin resting on his steepled fingers. He didn't move as Bruce sat beside him.

"Good as you remember?" he asked.

"Better," Phil said. "His upper body strength's better than when he was a teenager. With the right diet and an actual exercise regime, he could be exceptional."

They all sat down, watching as Clint retrieved the arrows and stuck them back into the quiver on his back. He hit some buttons on the control panel, raising the difficulty setting to the highest.

"There's no way," Tony said. "It's hard enough to hit them with bullets. Arrows are slower…"

Yet Clint hit a bullseye on every target, no matter how they darted back and forth. His focus never wavered until he'd hit every one in record time, sometimes firing over his back. The Avengers and Phil waited while JARVIS confirmed the perfect record. When Clint noticed his audience, he took a step back.

"You said I could leave the rooms when I'd improved by sixty percent," he reminded Bruce. "JARVIS told me I was better by sixty-three, so I figured I was okay to—"

"Sneak out?" Bruce asked. "If you thought it was such a good idea to leave your room, why didn't you just go out the door?"

"Didn't wanna bother anyone," Clint mumbled, and he retrieved the arrows again. Then he carefully put away his bow, and returned the arrows to the cupboard. "This is a neat collection."

"I've been working on trick arrows," Tony said.

"Cool. But you've only got these. Where are the bows? Not that I'd use any of them," he added quickly. "I've got my own. But who else does archery here?"

"No one," Steve said.

It didn't take long to register. Clint's eyes grew wide and he stepped back, clutching his bow to his chest.

"Why would you…?" He shook his head, looking at each of them. "I don't understand."

"We said we wanted to see what you could do," Tony said, shrugging. "So I got them. It barely cost anything."

"But… but those are top of the range!"

"_Hello_, I'm Tony Stark. Why would I get second-rate arrows?"

"I've seen them in shop windows," Clint said, backing off further. "They cost a fortune!"

"Hey, calm down," Steve said. "You're still thirty-seven percent sick, remember?"

"Maybe it's time for another rest?" Bruce advised. "You've been climbing around vents and firing at targets for long enough. Why don't you do another movie marathon? Or you could call the shelter, now that your voice is nearly back?"

"Yeah," Clint said. "I'll do that."

"Phone call?" He nodded. "Okay, we can arrange that. Back in your rooms."

"Not mine," he mumbled.

"They are for the time being. Come on."

Bruce led Clint to the elevator. Before stepping in, he gave Phil a hard look over his shoulder, a very clear warning not to go pestering Clint to join SHIELD. Phil raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He lowered them after the doors closed.

"That kid is good," Natasha said, breaking the silence.

"Never in Asgard have I seen such skill," Thor said. "He would shame our warriors with his prowess."

"I don't think I want him in SHIELD," Phil said.

"Why not?" Steve asked.

"Because I don't think I could forgive myself if I put him in that situation. With a gun in his hands, he'd be deadly. I don't want him killing people for SHIELD. Even if we're taking out the bad guys… he's too innocent for that. But he's also seen hard times, and I don't want to exacerbate that."

"It's regular work," Tony said.

"It's regular work I don't want him doing. Not yet. But we have to employ him in some capacity, or he'll end up back on the streets."

"I could offer him a job in Stark Industries. A liaison between us and various charities, or something. Or he could continue his work at the shelter."

"Doesn't matter what," Steve said. "If you're not gonna take him, Phil, then I want him to be an Avenger. You said yourself he's exceptional. Tony, you said you're making trick arrows?" Tony nodded. "Imagine what he could do in battle."

"Arrows which shoot nets, or disable electronics, or create explosions," Tony said, standing up. "I'm gonna go tweak them. And work out how to conduct the tests."

"Tony, we can't push him," Phil warned. "You heard what Bruce said."

"Yeah… You're the one who's scared of being kicked out of bed by your boyfriend, not me." He flapped his hand. "Don't worry. I want the kid in peak condition before he goes messing with my electronics." He hesitated, and made a face. "Okay, that sounded dirtier than it was meant to."

"Was it meant to sound dirty at all?" Steve said.

"Cap, this is me. Do you really need to ask?"

"I'm sorry I did."

* * *

The first time Clint was given permission to go out of doors, he sat on the roof, staring out over the city. Thor made sure that he was bundled up, 'As this Midgardian weather is far too unhealthy'. Clint actually looked quite cute, with a beanie low on his head, a large woolly scarf up to his chin, and with Thor's arm slung around him and pulling him close. Natasha took a picture, regardless of the baleful glare Clint gave her.

"I want to see the others," he said.

"You're lucky Bruce let you up here, considering how cold it is, not to mention that the air's thinner."

"But they're my only friends," Clint said, frowning as he rested his head on his crossed arms. "They need me. Only ten days `til the new year. We've gotta start packing up whatever's left." Thor and Natasha exchanged a look, but didn't say anything. "I'm still half-convinced this is all some sorta dream, that I'm in a coma. I have to wake up. They _need_ me." He buried his head behind his arms, and shivered. Thor rubbed his back.

"Fret not," he said. "You will be reunited with your friends once more. Do you not consider us to be your friends?" Clint snorted, and looked up.

"No," he said. "Why would I? I'm just a guy from the streets. 'M only here `cause I'm sick, and you feel sorry for me. And Dr. Banner won't let me go home."

Thor flinched as though he'd been struck. Natasha pursed her lips, and opened her mouth to reply, probably admonish. But Clint shivered again.

"I should go back inside," he said. "Sooner I'm better, soon I can get outta your hair."

"You will not even consider Agent Coulson's proposition?" she asked.

"I dunno," he said with a shrug. "Haven't got many skills. `Sides, he hasn't talked to me about it since the other day. Maybe my shooting's not good enough for… SHIELD?"

"Correct."

"Yeah, I thought so."

"I mean about the name of the organisation we work for," she said. "Your shooting is beyond brilliant." Clint peeked up at her, the tips of his ears going redder. "But you are also correct in that you must come back indoors. You're shivering."

"It's winter," he muttered. "There's snow. `Course I'm shivering."

Thor led him back inside, and Natasha followed. Clint was getting used to the elevator, and hadn't been back in the vents since his one foray. They'd convinced him that he had no reason to run. That he wished to leave was of some concern, however. Natasha privately instructed JARVIS to up the levels of security in Clint's quarters, and monitor his every movement. He promised to ensure that the ventilation shafts could only be opened in the event of an emergency, and alerted Tony right away.

* * *

When Clint finally got around to testing the trick arrows for Tony, Fury came to watch. No one told Clint who he was ahead of time, and once Clint was in the zone he only just registered the man's presence. It wasn't until Tony declared the experiment a success that Clint put away his bow. He turned around and nearly ran into the director.

"Nick Fury," he said. "Director of SHIELD. I was curious to see you in action. You didn't disappoint."

Clint dropped his gaze and clutched the handle of his bow case tighter. "Yes, sir?"

"Don't intimidate him," Steve scolded. Fury gave him a withering look.

"That's my default setting," he said. "Phil said you're not ready for SHIELD yet, `least not as a field agent or specialist. I think he's right. I could've been a threatening presence and you wouldn't have noticed."

Clint raised his chin and scowled.

"On the contrary, _sir_," he said. "If I'd thought you were a threat, you would've got an arrow right through that eye-patch before you could move another step. JARVIS wouldn't have let you in if you were dangerous. For some reason, he likes me."

"You are very likeable, Mr. Barton," JARVIS said. Clint smiled bashfully.

"Thanks," he said. Fury looked over at Phil.

"Test him on a mat," he said. "Start simple. Send me footage. I've got work to get back to." He eyed Clint sharply. "Train. Then we'll see."

"But, uh…" Clint cleared his throat as Fury turned back to give him his full attention. "I haven't said that I wanna work for you."

"D'you have anywhere else to go?"

"Yeah. The streets. I know `em."

"He has us," Steve said, standing close behind Clint. "He could join us, director. He doesn't have to be a SHIELD agent. Out of us, Natasha's the only one who also works for you. Clint could be an Avenger."

Clint stared up at him, and promptly skittered away.

"No," he mumbled. "Not… no."

He clutched his bow to his chest and darted into the elevator. He didn't look at any of them, and pressed the close door button until he was out of sight. Steve's shoulders slumped.

"Why won't he even consider it?" he murmured.

"Did it ever occur to you that he doesn't want to shoot people for a living?" Bruce said, frowning at Steve. "If he's willing to choose homelessness over a good job which involves killing other human beings, don't you think that says a lot?"

"Either that, or he doesn't believe in himself enough to think that any of us are being serious," Phil said.

"He thought we were keeping him here out of pity," Natasha said.

"Aye, and that he was a burden," Thor added.

"Well, it's half true," Tony said. "But not in a bad way."

"Who's going to give him reason to believe that there's a good way?" Phil asked. "He won't accept it from any of us."

"But he might…" Steve trailed off as they all looked at him. "He might believe it from someone he knows and trusts."

* * *

A stern-looking woman sat opposite Clint. He coughed into a tissue.

"That was pathetic," she said. "Clint Barton, of everyone I know in New York – and that's plenty – only _you_ would manage to get into this kind of trouble." She glanced around. "If you can call being stuck in Stark Tower 'trouble'."

"They won't let me go home," he complained. "Ms. Kate, you've gotta tell them."

"Tell them what? To send you out into the cold while you're still sick? I'm not telling them anything of the sort, when you're only arguing to be contrary."

He sulked. "'M not being contrary."

"We can survive without you."

"You won't have to worry about surviving for much longer," he muttered. She tilted his head.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Shelter closing down?"

"Ah, yes. That."

"I shouldn't be here," he said, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "The kids have it worse than me."

"And they have a place," Kate said. "With us."

"And I should be with you!"

"Dr. Banner told me that you have job opportunities."

"Yeah," Clint said, resting his chin on his knees. "Doesn't mean I'm interested."

"Do you have a choice?"

"If I thought it'd save the shelter, I'd do whatever it took. But I'm barely an adult. Not much I can do to help. That's why I wanted to get the kids a surprise. Net us an Avenger to visit for an hour or something, just to cheer everyone up. Kinda didn't work out the way I'd planned."

"But it still worked," Kate said. Clint opened his mouth to protest that Steve had just picked up his bow, when there was an enormous crash outside. JARVIS immediately put out an alert to assemble. Natasha ran into the room.

"Get downstairs to safety," she said. "Now."

"What's going on?" Clint asked as he and Kate stood up. Natasha herded them to the elevator.

"I don't know, but whatever happened was only a few blocks away," she said. "It may be nothing, but this is our procedure when there are civilians in the building. JARVIS will talk you through it. Stay safe."

The doors closed, separating them. Clint looked around the elevator, his hands itching.

"I will take you to your quarters, Mr. Barton," JARVIS said. "You will both be safe there."

"Okay," Clint said, even though his mind was racing. His bow. It was in his room. If he could grab it, and some of the trick arrows from the range, he could go help. If there was anything to help with, of course. "Any updates on what's going on?"

"I will let you know," JARVIS said. "Please remain calm."

"Who's panicking?" Kate said, raising her eyebrows. "Clint, are you panicking?"

"Not exactly," he said. "But I hate uncertainty. You know that."

It didn't take long for JARVIS to report that the disturbance wasn't as minor as they'd thought. Reed Richards – Mr. Fantastic – had been experimenting, and it got out of hand. Whatever formula he'd been working on, it had mutated into some sort of metallic-looking goo-beast, and dropped down the side of the Baxter Building onto the street below, before beginning to multiply. The explosion had been the result of someone shooting one of the blobs.

Clint grabbed his bow out of the case and jumped into the elevator, instructing JARVIS to take him to the range. The AI obeyed without question, and waited while Clint fetched every arrow he could grab, shoving them into the various quivers and slinging them all onto his back. There was no time to inventory them now. He'd do it on the move.

Waiting for him on the rooftop was Iron Man.

"J let me know," he said. "Come on."

Clint held on, and Tony flew him towards the worst-affected area, and placed him on an empty balcony. Clint loaded up his bow, and began to fire various arrows. Ones which shot nets, ones which exploded, ones which electrocuted; anything to take down the metallic piles of gloop. The Human Torch flew near him, and lit several of the arrows for Clint before he fired them. It was kind of easy, and heaps of fun. Yeah, what was happening was horrible, but Clint felt free to let loose arrow after arrow, knowing that he was saving people. Maybe saving them. He was more intent on taking down the balls of goo than noticing what was going on with the screaming civilians. If he was doing anything wrong, he was sure Iron Man or Thor would stop him.

As it was, he kept firing until he ran out of arrows. When that happened, he slung the quivers and bow back over his shoulders and scaled down the building to the street below. Some of the arrows would still be salvageable. If he could grab them, he could keep going. He noticed flashes around him, but it didn't seem to be the enemy. He did see that some of the mutated goo-beasts had sort of melted, and he grabbed his arrows from the middle of big, shiny puddles. The arrows were the ones tipped with… well, Clint didn't know what it was, because the explanation went over his head. So he found the nearest person he knew.

"Agent Coulson!" he shouted, and he nearly ran into Phil. Phil looked entirely unsurprised.

"You melted some of them," he said. "How?"

"These," Clint said, holding up the dripping arrows. "I think Johnny Storm lit `em up for me, but I don't know what's on the ends of them."

"I'll contact Iron Man. You keep shooting. Here." He held out a lighter. Clint grabbed it, and went back to work.

If this was his actual job, it wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

While they waited for Clint to join the debrief, Phil looked at the Avengers.

"That went better than anything I could've planned," he said. "I think I owe Reed Richards dinner."

"Wait, did you organise that to happen?" Bruce said, scowling at his boyfriend. "Phil, I can't believe—"

"That I'd put civilian lives in danger to convince someone to take a job they might not want, while they're recovering from a severe head cold? Bruce, I love you, but don't ever suggest that again. Do you really think I could be so callous?"

"The point is," Steve said firmly, averting – or at least delaying – an argument, "that Clint is good. Really good. From all accounts, he stayed cool throughout. There was no moment of panicking. He just went straight in and did what he had to. He even climbed down the side of a building without any trouble."

"Johnny Storm's taken a liking to him, which is… actually rather alarming," Phil said, sifting through the documents on the holo-screen in front of him. They all turned at the knock on the door. "Enter."

Clint shuffled into the room, and closed the door behind him. He was bundled up in warm clothes again, and was cradling a mug of what smelled like pea and ham soup. He sat beside Bruce, who began to examine him, despite SHIELD medics having already done that.

"I'm okay, doc," he complained. "You can let me go now."

"You shouldn't have been doing that," Bruce said.

"You guys needed me. Well, I mean, you probably didn't, but I couldn't not help when there were people in danger, right? It wasn't all that hard. Just had to shoot some arrows at big targets. I've done harder stuff than that for paying crowds." He shrugged, and then winced. "It was a cinch."

"You winced."

"Haven't done that much shooting in a long time, is all," he said. "Gonna need to do some stretches before bed."

"I'll massage you," Steve said. He blushed when everyone looked at him. "I mean… your shoulders. If you want."

"Let's begin the debrief," Phil said. Tony opened his mouth. "Not one inappropriate comment, Stark, so help me."

"Agent-Agent, would I _ever_?"

* * *

Kate sat beside Clint as they watched the twenty-four hour news channel. Clint featured in a lot of the footage, which Kate seemed gleeful to point out. He sat there with his arms crossed, mentally critiquing his performance. He'd let his technique go a bit, which was clear to see. He hoped the media didn't play up any talent he might have, because it sure as hell wasn't showing. With targets like that, it would've been hard to miss. What was the big deal?

"You're good at this," Kate said. "You do need to make a career out of it."

"It'd take ages to get a GED, then a degree in teaching. What do I do in the meantime?"

"There are always different paths you can take to get where you're going, Clint."

He shook his head. "I don't see it working out, Ms. Kate."

"Just call me Kate. You're old enough."

"Doesn't feel right."

"It's a bad habit you've picked up from the children."

"Probably," he said. "There could be worse."

"And there could be worse habits they could pick up from you," she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Like stubbornness."

He felt like sticking out his tongue, and manfully restrained himself. Judging by the look on her face, she'd guessed anyway.

"Didn't turn out too bad," he said. "But I feel guilty. I'm here, the best accommodation in New York, getting the best food, and probably the best health care. I don't—"

"Don't say you don't deserve it," she said sharply. "You look after the kids, work all kinds of jobs I don't want to think about and give nearly all of the money to the shelter, and you help out every day to boot."

"I live there. Of course I'm gonna help it."

"You do it because you have a big heart," she said. "You could get a regular job, Clint, and a home somewhere."

"I could get a sugar daddy or sugar momma."

She frowned. "Don't sell yourself short, honey."

"I was just joking, Ms. Kate."

"Please." She turned her body to face him. "Clint, you have to take every opportunity to get out of poverty."

"Not… not exactly poverty—"

"How much money do you have to your name?"

"Uh…"

"Bank accounts? Steady work? A home?"

"You know I don't have any of those."

"Things to call your own? Aside from a wallet, whatever money you have in hand, and the hand-me-down clothes we all share?"

He shrugged. "There are more important things."

"We're your friends and family. But what about…" Her lips twitched. "True love?"

"Ha. Like that'll ever happen. And you know I don't believe in fairytales."

"But Cinderella doesn't always have to marry the prince to get a happy ending."

"How poetic," Clint remarked. He hissed through his teeth, scowling at the television. "My form's gone to hell. I need to practise more."

"You can do that here, honey. Mr. Stark told me about the range."

"Why're you all set on keeping me here?" he asked suddenly. "I know the shelter's gonna be shut down in a few weeks, so it doesn't really make a difference. But I could go wherever the others are going." He smiled insecurely. "You all wanna be rid of me?"

"We want you to be happy. Why do you want the opposite? Are you so set on being a martyr?"

"A martyr?"

"Clint—"

"Maybe I don't want this!" he shouted, standing up and striding away. "Maybe I prefer the simple life to this… _this_." He gestured to the television. "Is it really worth it?"

"You don't want to save people? Look, Clint." She pointed at all the people pouring out their gratitude, at the tweets on the bottom of the screen. It seemed that at least half of them mentioned 'the archer'. Someone had leaked the name 'Hawkeye', which pissed Clint off. "Look how much they love you."

"They don't _love_ me," he said. "They don't _know_ me. If they knew that I was practically homeless, that I only had about five bucks to my name, they wouldn't give a damn. I'd just be more scum under their feet."

"You're not scum under _anyone's_ feet," Kate said, grabbing him by the arms. "Anyone who thinks that is the real scum. You're a brilliant man who's seen far too much tragedy and pain and squalor. Just because you don't have a formal education, and had a tragic childhood, doesn't mean you're any less worthy of being a superhero."

"I haven't got… magical powers," Clint said, waving his arms. "I've only got good eyesight and good aim."

"Better than good," she said. "Better than _great_. The Avengers want you."

"What, did Mr. Stark tell you that, too?"

"Yes." She inhaled slowly, and then exhaled. "Clint. The shelter's staying open."

He did a double-take. "What? What're you talking about?"

"Pepper Potts bullied the council into rethinking the planning development, and Tony Stark donated the money and resources needed to fix up the place. The Avengers have all agreed to visit on Christmas Day, and to make sure that the shelter stays open for good. I gather they didn't tell you this?"

"N-no. No, they didn't." His expression hardened. "Is it conditional on me working for them?"

"What?" Kate's eyes grew wide. "Of course not, Clint. Do you really think they'd do that?"

He sighed, and ran his hands over his face. "I don't know. I don't know them. I don't want to think that about them, `cause they've been great. But why would they do this? The only connection they have with the place is me, and they've been bugging me to stay with them, join their team or SHIELD. I feel like… like everyone's pressuring me to be something I'm not. Just more people using me." He lowered his gaze, and strolled over to the picture window, staring out over the New York City skyline. "Kate… it's weird. This kinda thing doesn't happen in real life, `specially not to someone like me."

"Amazing, extraordinary things happen more often than you'd think," she said, walking up behind him. He looked at her in the reflection of the glass. "You coming into our life, for one. You're incredible with the children, your tenacity has kept us open longer than I ever thought four years ago. Now your connection, as you call it, to the Avengers… has saved our home. You can still call it home, if you want. No one's gonna kick you out of anywhere. When will you stop seeing enemies everywhere you turn?"

"It's hard not to," he said, voice choking up, "when I've been scared most of my life, and spent so many years terrified of my past catching up to me."

"Well." She touched his shoulders. "If it does, where will you be safest? With us, or here? Please, Clint. Please…" She rested her forehead on the back of his neck. "If you don't at least consider this, or find some other way to leave the shelter, what are the kids supposed to think? They need to believe that one of their own can make good, and they all look up to you, Clint. All of them. If you've got a chance to have a fairytale ending, you have to hold onto it with both hands. If not this, some other opportunity. But don't let it pass you by because you're scared to leave us. Or too damn loyal. If nothing else, getting a permanent, well-paying job means you can donate more to your poor friends back in the slums." She smiled wryly as he chuckled. "Honey, please promise me you'll give it some thought. Dr. Banner isn't letting you go for another couple of days, so that's plenty of time. And you can stay with us the rest of your life, if you want to. But you have so much life inside of you, Clint. Don't let that die out when you can do so much with it."

Clint was unashamed to notice the tears trickling down his cheeks. He wanted to believe her, so much. And the thought of disappointing his friends was a terrible one. At least he had options; he'd never had those before. Not good ones, anyway. If not SHIELD or the Avengers, Miss Potts could find a position for him in Stark Industries. She'd definitely hinted at that. If they didn't want him at the tower anymore, he could stay near the shelter, or continue to live there, and still hold his head high knowing that he worked for the biggest tech corporation in NYC, and screw anyone who ever said he wouldn't come to anything.

"I can prove `em all wrong," he said.

"Yes, you can."

He continued to stare out the window at the darkening horizon. "Show `em what I'm made of."

Kate nodded, and squeezed his shoulders. "Course you can, honey. Do it for all of us, if not for yourself."

"What if I can't? What if I fail?"

"They won't let you," she said, shaking him gently. "And you won't let yourself. Go out there and take destiny by the balls."

He laughed. "That doesn't even make any sense."

"But it cheered you up, so my work here is done."

"Isn't your work supposed to be unofficial recruitment officer?" he asked, eyeing her reflection sharply. She hesitated.

"I told them I wouldn't make you do anything you don't want to do," she said. "And I won't. I made you a promise a long time ago, and I'm keeping it."

"D'you really think they need me?"

She moved one arm around his shoulders, and stood beside him. "I think they want you, and that means even more, in my opinion."

Slowly, Clint smiled. It was still shaky, but there. He leaned into Kate's hold.

"I can be scared, can't I?"

"It's always okay to be scared. Just don't let it stop you from achieving your dreams."

He hummed. "When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero. Thought I'd be a fireman or something. Then Barney and me, we joined the circus. I could still make people happy, even when I was down. I guess this is as good a step-up as I could get, being part of a team of superheroes. Plus superheroine."

"The Black Widow's always been my favourite." Clint gave her a hurt look, and she rolled her eyes. "Obviously if you became an Avenger, you'd be my new favourite."

"Should hope so," he said indignantly. Kate scruffed his hair with her free hand, and he yelped.

"So you're gonna be a superhero, are you?" she asked after he extracted himself from her arms.

"Yeah, probably," he said.

"Shouldn't you go tell them?"

"Nah," he said. "Don't tell `em anything, JARVIS. I wanna make `em sweat a bit. And I wanna… make sure this is what I'm ready to do."

Kate frowned, and cupped his cheek. "It's a dangerous life," she said. "More dangerous than most jobs. That's a perfectly valid reason to turn down their offers."

"You know me. I don't mind a little danger. Heck, I thrive on it."

"We'll worry every time you go out."

"You do that anyway, Ms. Kate. `Least you can watch me on TV if I'm being all superhero-y."

"Hmm." She hugged him tight, tighter than he'd ever been hugged, and he wondered if this was the kind of hug moms were supposed to give.

"Love you, kid," she said. "Take care of yourself."

"I'll see you Christmas Day, no matter what happens."

"Alright," she said, and she kissed him on the cheek. "See you then."

* * *

Things were quiet as they watched the late news that night. It was basically repeat footage, with a few interviews from civilian bystanders. Clint turned more pink with each compliment to his skill, muttering corrections under his breath whenever they showed video of his shooting. It eventually occurred to him that Captain America probably had super-hearing among everything else, judging by his occasional snigger whenever Clint made a particularly cutting remark about his own form.

"If you stayed here, you could totally improve through practise," Tony said, not looking at Clint.

"I know."

"Not many people get this kind of offer. Stark Industries – or, I guess, SHIELD – can sponsor your study, so you can get the GED you're fixated on."

"I know."

"You could visit your friends any time you wanted."

"I know."

"And, you know, they'll still be there, since we've stopped the big, bad councillors from tearing it down for the next thousands years."

"I know."

Tony glanced at him sharply. "You know?"

"Ms. Kate told me," Clint said. He hugged his knees close, curled up in a ball at the end of the sofa.

"…Right."

"It's not…" He looked at his feet, hating that he felt the need to ask. "It's not a bribe, is it? You fix all their problems as long as I join you, or SI, or SHIELD or whatever?"

They all looked either horrified or hurt by the suggestion. Steve especially looked cut up, and Natasha paled and turned away. Clint knew it was a lousy question, but there was no need for them to look so damn hurt.

"I need to know," he continued. "I have… trust issues, according to the free counsellor. Could've figured that onr out for myself. Look, a month ago, I was pretty much begging for work, getting about three hours of sleep a night if I was lucky, and seriously considering turning to prostitution to make extra money. Knew it probably wouldn't be worth it in the end, but that's how desperate I felt at times. Now I'm here, in freakin' Stark Tower with the Avengers, being told that people actually want me. For once, I'm not the one asking for work. It's practically being dropped in my lap. How am I supposed to react? Just assume that luck's on my side, and not wait for the other shoe to drop? That's not how I roll. I wait for the punches to come first." He coughed, and sniffled as he popped another lozenge into his mouth. He still couldn't meet their eyes. "I wanna believe the best, but I just can't. Too much shit's happened to me in the past. So I'm sorry, but…"

"Clint," Bruce said, shifting in place. He'd been tense with Phil, but now leaned into his side. "It's not a bribe. There aren't any strings attached. We just figured that it was some kind of sign, you appearing in our lives like this, and figured that the least we could do was help out. Even if you didn't… don't want to stay, that won't change anything. I've already pledged to help out more in America's poor areas, since I have to stay nearby in case we need to assemble. Steve's been looking for a cause to champion, and he's settled on homeless veterans. Tony's going to make sure those kids get an education…"

"They could be the future of Stark Industries," Tony said. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"The point is, we're not just doing this for you," he said. "No take-backs. I don't know what else to say to make you believe us. I…" Phil slid an arm around his waist, and Bruce's eyelids fluttered as he cuddled closer. "We like you, and we want you on the team."

"I've been authorised to offer you a position within SHIELD, which you could undertake on a part-time basis with a view to future advancement," Phil added. "You could be an Avenger on the side, like Natasha."

"That's one way of putting it," Natasha remarked, with a sardonic twist to her lips.

"Please give it some thought," Steve said. Damn puppy-dog eyes. "Bruce still isn't letting you go for another couple of days—"

"I know," Clint said. He seemed to be saying that an awful lot. "`Sides, I already decided earlier. Ms. Kate helped me out, but the decision was all my own. Wasn't it, JARVIS?"

"It was indeed, Mr. Barton."

"So… if you think Hawkeye isn't a dumb name for a superhero, then… yeah." He shrugged. "Sounds cool."

There was about a minute's silence while the others processed this. Thor was the first to speak.

"These tidings gladden my heart!" he said, and he surged to his feet. "We must hold a toast. Friend Anthony, access to your bar, if you please!"

Tony grinned, and leapt up to join Thor in raiding the booze. Natasha smiled widely, Steve was beaming as he shook Clint's hand, and Bruce looked almost relieved. Well, judging by the way the Hulk had carried Clint from one part of the battle to the other, the Big Guy liked him.

"So who're you joining?" Phil asked.

"Both? Uh, Avengers and SHIELD? If you're sure your boss wants me."

"He does," Phil said. "We can talk about that later, though. Director Fury will want to take a meeting with you."

"No more shop talk," Tony declared, handing Clint a glass of… probably something alcoholic. "Thor's right. Time to celebrate."

"What is this?"

"Brandy. It has the added bonus of being medicinal."

"Here goes," Clint said, and he grimaced as he lifted the glass to his lips.

* * *

"They're here," Kate hissed, backing away from the door. "Three cheers, everyone!"

It was Christmas Day. Clint was still staying at Stark Tower, and would be until he began training at SHIELD. Then he would be on base until the end of his trial period, which could last for months. But that wouldn't start until the new year. He'd insisted on returning to the shelter for Christmas Day, though, and the others followed up on their promise to join him.

Everyone hip-hip-hoorayed each hero and heroine through the door. Clint was last of all, kitted out in his new superhero outfit, complete with bow and quiver on his back. He laughed as he swung some of the kids around, and introduced them to the rest of the team. He felt lighter than he ever had in his life, including the time Thor took him flying around the gym. Natasha had made him have a haircut, which some of the residents commented on. Clint just smiled, and rubbed the short strands self-consciously.

"Purple was always your colour," Kate said, flicking the collar of Clint's shirt, which was beneath a bullet-proof vest. "Pity we didn't get more clothes in with that colour."

"It's okay," he said, shrugging. "I'm still not sure about all this, though. I mean, I've trained with the others, and my tired, aching muscles and bruises tell me that it's real. I just don't know if I'm cut out for superhero life or not."

"You've always been a hero, Clint," she said. "Look around. What you've accomplished by supporting us, and by being you."

He glanced over the wheelchair elevator, the medical equipment, the boxes of new clothes, the Christmas tree, lights, and decorations. He drank in the happy faces of everyone else as they interacted with each other.

"And I'm only a phone call away," Kate added. "Anytime you need to talk. I have a feeling it'll be a lot."

He snorted. "You know me and my insecurities."

"I've lived with you and your insecurities."

"Yeah." He scratched his arm. "Sorry `bout that."

"Never mind." She nudged him. "Go back to your team. Make them your friends-slash-family."

Clint nodded, and drifted back to Natasha's side. Ever since joining SHIELD, she'd taken him under her wing, and was on her way to becoming one of his best friends. She linked arms with him now. And while Clint looked back at Kate, knowing he'd never forget his past, he also acknowledged that he had to look towards the future.

So he tuned in to the conversation, which seemed to be about Clint's ability to shoot at targets behind his back (okay, he was proud of that trick), and felt glad that he'd made the stupid decision to sit out in the snow at the doorstep of Stark Tower.

* * *

**How flipping soppy. Ugh, I hate it when I get to the end of a story and don't know how to tie it all off neatly. Especially since it's Christmas, and I should be doing my utmost to wrap up my stories like presents. Or something. Meh.**

**So! This was for a prompt on the kink meme, round 25, page 45. I'd been considering it for ages, and I have no idea whether I thought it would be shorter or longer than this. Anything's possible with me.**

**Please review! Make it a Christmas present for the author. :D**


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